


The Tale of the Champions

by fearnotthedemons



Series: Paint the Town Red [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blue Hawke, Canon Rewrite (sort of), Canon-Typical Violence, Hawke Has A Twin, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Multi, Purple Hawke, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2019-10-23 05:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17677262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearnotthedemons/pseuds/fearnotthedemons
Summary: Garrett Hawke is a soft, sweet man who takes up arms only to defend those who cannot defend themselves, and almost everyone who knows him loves him for it.Felicity Hawke is not, and those who know her generally agree that she’s just kind of an asshole.How did the two of them come to be Kirkwall's defenders? The story they lived is very different from the one Varric will come to tell...





	1. Prologue

Garrett has always been the scion of the Hawke family. The leader, the role model, the golden child. The kindness behind his mismatched irises is enough to make old widows weep and every single girl and boy in Lothering fall hopelessly in love with him.

 

Mountain of a man though he is, he accepts it all with a blush on his tanned, freckled face and a bashful shrug of his hulking shoulders. Even simple compliments can turn him into a puddle of mush.

 

You would never guess that he is the same man who runs into burning barns to rescue animals and small children without a thought for his own safety. Or the first to volunteer for the hunting party that eradicates the giant spiders that move into the caves by the lake. Or the one who rescues farms on the outskirts from bandits, driving them back with a ferocity juxtaposed by his overwhelmingly kind and gentle demeanor.

 

But he is. Garrett Hawke is a soft, sweet man who takes up arms only to defend those who cannot defend themselves, and almost everyone who knows him loves him for it.

 

Felicity Hawke is not, and those who know her generally agree that she’s just kind of an asshole.

 

Always two steps behind her twin with a shitty grin and a poorly timed joke, Felicity insists she is the manifestation of all the bad qualities Garrett dispelled in the womb.

 

“His fetus was too weak to hold all the vices in, so mine absorbed them and made me infinitely stronger,” she tells the old lady at the market stall conversationally.

 

The sun-wrinkled woman just looks at the both of them hopelessly, Garrett’s apologetic smile no match for his tactless twin. A grimace doesn’t leave his face until they are walking away with their arms full of groceries.

 

“Lissy, you really ought to take pity,” he says once they’re far enough away. “Your sense of humor is...uncomfortable for people who aren’t used to it.”

 

“See, you’re obligated to say that as the weak and viceless sibling,” she rebuffs, flashing that crooked grin she knows her brother can’t stay mad at.

 

He just pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

 

It has always been like this, and he suspects it always will be. Felicity blurts out whatever pops into her head to whatever poor soul is in her immediate vicinity and Garrett chases after her apologising.

 

She is the reason he constantly immerses himself in the community, always the first to volunteer for others and lend a helping hand. He knows that if he makes himself an invaluable asset to the village, they will have to think twice about ratting Felicity or Bethany or Malcolm out to the templars, and Garrett will do anything - _anything_ \- to keep his family together. A little community service is a small price to pay for their safety.

 

He sometimes wonders what Felicity would do if their roles were reversed.

 

***

 

Malcolm dies two years later. Their father leaves them the farm, a letter, and the Hawke family legacy. It’s poor consolation for the loss of a parent, but they have always been survivors, outlasting the odds at every turn. This is no different.

 

Her father’s letter - a last will and testament to be read only by his eldest children - is clenched tightly in her fist as Felicity walks towards the forest alone. She’s long since memorized the contents, but feeling the edges of the paper crumple in her hands is a small reassurance in the face of what she’s about to do.

 

_My darling Felicity, please understand that only you can do this, and you must. Our family’s survival depends on remaining hidden, and no one knows that better than smugglers. They will try to take advantage of you. You cannot let them, or you risk the Hawke family’s ruin and the templar’s wrath._

 

His words echo in her mind.

 

She understands why it has to be this way, but that understanding hurts. The only reason Malcolm did not ask Garrett to do this is because he’s too _good_. Perfect Garrett couldn’t possibly compromise his morals, but Felicity? Felicity was always a trouble maker, anyways.

 

She meets them in a dilapidated barn on the edge of the forest, far enough away that no one will come looking but close enough that bandits aren’t likely to come busting in at any moment. Not that present company is much better. They’re mostly human, with a few dwarves and elves standing to the side, aloof. It’s an odd bunch, but Felicity supposes they’d have to be. Who else would have resorted to a life of smuggling out in the middle of Buttfuck-Nowhere, Ferelden? They clearly have nothing in common save their profession, their weirdness, and Malcolm Hawke, which has all of them eyeing one another suspiciously. Allies as they are (or profess to be), Malcolm’s death left a power vacuum that demands to be filled.

 

“Right, then,” Felicity says, breaking the tense silence with words before a knife can. “You all work for me now.”

 

It’s a stupid plan, in hindsight, but it works.

 

Within the next four hours Felicity is able to wrestle control from the group and becomes the proud leader of Lothering’s smuggling ring. They call her Red-Tail and she smiles for the first time since Malcolm’s funeral.

 

In the following months she manages to bring in enough lyrium to continue Bethany’s training and enough coin that no one goes hungry the next time they have to bribe passing templars too curious for their own good. It bothers Garrett that they have to resort to such petty means, but his perfectly legitimate job at the blacksmith’s just doesn’t cut it for a fatherless family of five.

 

“You could work at the most prestigious smithy that caters to the richest people in Thedas and I’d still make more coin off of one job than you,” Felicity tells him one day as they sort through payments that need to be made over a late dinner, everyone else long asleep.

 

“That’s not fair, Lissy, and you know it. Father never wanted this for us, and I _know_ he never wanted a criminal’s life for you.”

 

Felicity huffs a bitter laugh. “Did you read his letter?” she asks.

 

Garrett’s silence is answer enough.

 

“This is _all_ he wanted for me, Gar. It’s all he left me, other than a stupid staff and our ‘family legacy’. I’m more than half-convinced our legacy is to die as fugitives, wanted for the crime of our very existence! Even you, Carver, and Mother would be killed if they found Bethany and I out after so long!”

 

Her chest heaves, words spilling from her mouth before she can stop them, and suddenly Garrett knows the answer to the question he’s asked himself for years. Felicity would do anything to protect their family, just like him. Anything.

 

“I know Father was a great man,” Felicity says softly after a few steadying breaths, “but I’m not sure anymore that he was a good one.”

 

***

 

The Blight makes its way to Lothering, infecting the land like some lingering and incurable disease. Garrett and Carver have to go.

 

Bethany and Leandra beg them to stay, weeping openly as the two of them walk away. They clutch one another as though to anchor themselves amidst the reality that the Hawke boys are leaving the nest at last.

 

Felicity does not cry in front of the family, instead standing stoically where Malcolm would have. Her tears were spilled on the shoulder of Garrett’s roughspun wool shirt the day before, pouring out in waves in the relative safety of the barn.

 

“Come back to me, you great big bastard” she had choked out between sobs. “ _Promise_ you’ll come back.”

 

“I promise.”

 

The words tasted metallic on his tongue.

 

He has never lied to Felicity before, and as his blue and brown irises now meet her impossibly pale ones for what could be the last time, he prays to the Maker above that he isn’t starting now.

 

***

 

The darkspawn are worse than any story or myth could have prepared them for. It’s all Garrett can do to get himself and Carver out alive and in one piece. He drags his brother kicking and screaming from the battlefield as their comrades are slaughtered and Loghain orders his traitorous retreat.

 

By the time they make it back to Lothering, their house and barn are nothing more than piles of ash. The only thing keeping the Hawke boys from complete despair is a note hidden in the hollow tree not far from where the barn used to be, penned in Felicity’s scrawling hand. She, Leandra, and Bethany are already on the road and well ahead of the inevitable flood of refugees. They set the animals loose and took all the provisions they could before leaving nothing behind for scavengers or darkspawn to find.

 

Garrett tries to urge the rest of the village to do the same, but it’s no use. Fereldens are stubborn at the best of times, and everyone is still adamantly denying that this is a true Blight. Carver leads a crying Garrett from the town, scrubbing any of his own tears away furiously as they leave their old life behind them to die.

 

The girls are three days ahead of them, but they catch up quickly, eager to put more distance between them and the oncoming tide of darkspawn.

 

“They’re like nothing you’ve ever seen,” Carver shudders, recalling the horde to his mother and sisters. “You look in their eyes and there’s nothing there, just hate. And they don’t stop coming. They won’t.”

 

“Well then let’s quit standing about waiting for them to catch up, hm?” Felicity snips. “We didn’t cut and run to have them overrun us before we reach… Where _are_ we going, exactly?”

 

They look around at one other in uncertainty. No one had thought that far ahead, not even Garrett. Felicity looks to him expectantly, but it is Leandra who speaks up first.

 

“We can go to Kirkwall,” she says, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

 

“What?! Why would we do that?”

 

“There’s a lot of templars in Kirkwall, Mother,” Bethany adds.

 

“I know that, but we still have family there, and an estate.”

 

Felicity is about to make a snide comment about their doting grandparents, but Garrett places a hand on her shoulder in gentle warning.

 

“We’ll make for Gwaren, then, and take ship,” he says, and it’s decided.

 

If Felicity pulls a face, everyone else has the good grace not to mention it. There are more important things to think about, like the templar and his wife that they pick up along the way, and the disturbingly frequent darkspawn encounters.

 

Carver’s description could never have prepared them for the real things, all gnashing teeth and oozing black ichor. By the time their ragtag group makes it to a clearing they’re coming in waves, one blighted horror after another.

 

“There’s no end to them!” Carver cries, his back pressed up firmly against Felicity’s.

 

“Just make the bastards fight for it!” she calls back over screaming darkspawn and clashing metal.

 

Then everything goes quiet.

 

The ground trembles beneath them, and the darkspawn scatter.

 

The stories always said that ogres were large beasts, but the horned monstrosity that stands drooling and snarling before them is more than that. It stands head and shoulders taller than Garrett and Carver both, and easily twice as wide. Unnatural purple skin stretches taut over hulking muscles only accentuated by the crude armor it wears.

 

It sniffs the air, and Felicity’s blood freezes when it sets its beady eyes on Bethany with a roar loud enough to send them all reeling backwards.

 

Before anyone can do or say anything, Bethany charges first.

 

“Maker grant me strength,” she prays before hurling a fireball right at the ogre’s face. It raises a gauntleted arm to deflect the blow, and Bethany is left defenseless.

 

Felicity sprints towards her baby sister, charging a lightning strike, but it’s already too late. The ogre reaches out and grabs Bethany by the waist, lifting her high before bashing her skull against the ground again and again.

 

“ _No!_ ” Garrett cries desperately to get its attention away from the littlest Hawke. Her body is cast aside as soon as the ogre locks on a worthy opponent, and hits the packed earth with a sickening crunch.

 

Felicity _screams_. The air sizzles, and her lightning bolt strikes Garrett’s warhammer with deafening thunder. The weapon crackles up and down with electricity, and all it takes is one vicious thrust from Garrett to finish off the monster. It explodes on impact, showering the ground with smoking chunks of flesh and blood and bone.

 

“Bethany, wake up! The battle’s over, we’re fine,” Leandra babbles hysterically over the broken and bloodied corpse of her youngest daughter.

 

Aveline squeezes her eyes shut in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Mistress. Your daughter is gone.”

 

Garrett, Carver, and Felicity make their way to Leandra’s side, all of them staring horrified at what’s left of their sister.

 

“She died protecting us,” Felicity whispers, choking on tears.

 

“I don’t want a hero, I want my daughter! How could you let her charge off like that?” Leandra accuses, glaring at her eldest children with hate in her eyes.

 

Garrett and Felicity say nothing, but let the blame fall heavy on their shoulders. They don’t have time to bury the body.

 

***

 

The next time darkspawn threaten to overtake them, it is a dragon that swoops in. The timing is a little too convenient and the witch a little too smug for Felicity’s liking, but delivering a trinket to the top of a mountain is a small price to pay for safe travel.

 

The cargo hold of the ship they board is cramped, and smells of vomit and grief. The remaining Hawke siblings sit huddled close, away from their mother and silent as the grave.

 

When Carver and Felicity go up for air, she catches him staring wistfully past the horizon, where the captain tells them Kirkwall will be.

 

“Do you think Bethany would have liked the ocean?” he asks quietly, voice cracking.

 

“Oh, _Carver_ ,” is all Felicity can say in response as she wraps her baby brother in a hug.

 

***

 

The unmistakable chains of Kirkwall’s port are visible a few days later when they dock at a place called the Gallows. Even without the guard telling them, Felicity thinks she could have guessed the name. The walls cage her in, whispering sorrows past and present. The tingle of magic is present, but even more so is the oppressive aura of templars - lots of them. Looking up at the statues of crying slaves shuddering under the weight of servitude, she wonders how free the City of Chains really is.

 

A templar stands at the end of the docks trying to force back refugees by sheer force of will. It’s clearly not working, all of them pressing up against his one-man boundary line, crying and shouting and bribing in equal measure. They stink of sweat and fish guts, and Felicity hopes she’s not as bad as they are. A subtle sniff of her undershirt is enough to kill that hope.

 

“It’s no good trying here,” she tells Garrett after several long minutes of jostling and jockeying for position. Felicity grabs his arm and points past the templar. “Let’s get in over there and see about this Uncle Gamlen of ours.”

 

He nods, and the five of them sneak past the throng of refugees to the heart of the Gallows.

 

“Excuse me, could you help us?” Garrett asks the guard posted nearest to the city gates. “We’re trying to meet family but seem to be having difficulty getting into the city.”

 

“You and every other bloody Ferelden,” he snorts rudely, and Felicity has to resist the urge to punch him then and there. She settles for an icy glare and flexes her fists irritably. They did _not_ lose Bethany fighting through hordes of darkspawn just to be sent back at the city gates.

 

“Please, our Uncle Gamlen is expecting us. He’s a noble within the city, I’m sure someone can find him and tell him we’ve arrived,” Garrett reasons. For a huge, muscle-bound man, he does a remarkable job of making himself small and nonthreatening.

 

The guard relents under his puppy eyes with a sigh. “The only Gamlen I know of is a gambler and a drunk, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Garrett grins. “Thank you, ser.”

 

Three days later a man just as filthy as the refugees walks out the city gates and into Leandra’s desperate grasping arms. His thinning grey hair has already creeped backwards, and the grease-stained rags he’s in hang oddly over his gangly limbs and ale belly. Pale blue eyes are the only things that mark him as a relation.

 

“Damn, girl,” he says in lieu of greeting, “the years haven’t been kind to you. I, ah, wasn’t expecting this. Between your husband’s death and the Blight I pretty much figured you’d be Ferelden for life.”

 

“Oh, Gamlen,” Leandra sighs, ignoring his less than warm reception, “We came too late! My poor Bethany didn’t make it, Andraste guide her.”

 

Gamlen cringes, but there’s no sympathy in it. “Maker save me, Leandra! Don’t drop this on me here. I don’t even know if I can get you in.”

 

“Oh? Would it help if I said you were my favorite uncle?” Felicity asks with a glint in her eye.

 

Gamlen looks up then, finally noticing the rest of their little group. His beady eyes take in Felicity’s sharp edges, Garrett’s broad softness, Carver’s surly defiance, all for the first time. Though coming in the Amell name, they all have a distinctly Hawke look to them; dark hair, freckles, and a naturally muscular frame that borders on threatening. Just another reminder of the choice Leandra made all those years ago.

 

“No,” Gamlen finally answers, shaking himself from his reverie. “The Amell family fortune is gone. Even if I wanted to pay your way in, I couldn’t. I--”

 

“We’ve spent weeks and lost people getting here.” Felicity interrupts. “I don’t care about your money; We’re tired, hungry, and sick of waiting. Whatever plan you have, just spit it out and be done with it.”

 

After wringing him for all the information he’s worth, Felicity stalks off towards Gamlen’s supposed contacts with Aveline and her brothers in tow. The glower on her face is enough to deter guards and templars alike from inquiring about the group of smelly Ferelden refugees tramping through the Gallows.

 

***

If Denerim is Ferelden’s shining torchlight, then Kirkwall is the equivalent of a dumpster fire in the Free Marches. The entire city reeks of sewage, rotten fish, and corruption.

 

Felicity is determined to hate it the moment they pass the gates.

 

Garrett, of course, is not.

 

“This is our home now,” he tells them all as they enter the city at last, maddeningly optimistic despite the fact that they just sold themselves into indentured servitude for a year. “Let’s at least give it a chance.”

 

Felicity has no interest in doing so, especially so soon after losing Bethany. Of course, everyone else has lost her, too, but they all grieve differently.

 

Leandra latches onto the lost family fortune and estate like a lifeline, as though better living arrangements will somehow erase the death of a daughter.

 

Carver nurses his anger, tearing through mercenary companies like paper and reimagining his every opponent as the ogre that ripped Bethany from his side.

 

Garrett turns his pain into kindness, a trait everyone loves and hates him for. He is determined to make the city a safer place for everyone, escorting old ladies home at night and bringing extra goods to the alienage in hard times.

 

Felicity drinks.

 

She can barely afford the cheapest ale at the shittiest bars, but she makes it work. Within their first few months in Kirkwall she becomes a regular at the Hanged Man, notorious for the bar fights she starts. She’s wasted far more often than not.

 

But even when Felicity shows up piss drunk, she gets the job done, so Meeran can’t complain about anything save the stench of alcohol on her breath. Mercenaries don’t argue with results. Felicity doesn’t, either. She wants to forget, and the liquor lets her do just that.

 

The whole first year is a blur.

 


	2. Act One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before, during, and after the Deep Roads expedition that changes the fortunes of the Hawke family forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me, huh? Not so!! After literal months of writing in the small spaces between school and life happening, chapter two is finally done! Massive thank you to starchaser22 for all of the help, encouragement, and love during this incredibly lengthy process! <3 Chapter three will probably take another hundred years to get done and end up just as long as this chapter (I'm really excited about all of the fun tensions that will be explored!), but I promised myself I would finish this thing, so hell or high water it will get done. Eventually.

“You’re looking for a quick way out of the slums, right?” the dwarf snaps after already rudely turning them down. “You and every other Ferelden in this dump! Find another meal ticket.” He walks away with a dismissive wave of his hand, leaving the Hawke siblings out of work. Again.

 

“Great,” Carver says, oozing sarcasm. “Now we’re back to waiting for someone to turn us in.” 

 

Felicity bristles, but before she can say anything Garrett clasps both their shoulders and sighs. “This will only get harder if we’re at each other’s throats.”

 

“I know,” Carver admits, flashing a guilty look towards his sister, “it just seems like you either die in this city or you end up like the scum we’re working with. We need coin, status - something to keep people off our backs.” He pauses, clearly frustrated. “And all I can think of is Uncle Gamlen.”

 

Felicity snorts. “You catch more flies with honey, but I suppose Gamlen’s bullshit will do in a pinch.”

 

“He did get us into the city, right?”

 

“Don’t make me laugh,” Felicity says. “We got ourselves into this city. Do you really think without our talents anyone would have agreed to take us on? Or that if Gamlen hadn’t come along we couldn’t have made contacts on our own?”

 

“I guess you’re right. Still, we need  _ something _ . I don’t fancy waking up in the Gallows.”

 

“And we won’t,” Garrett cuts in, eyes pleading silently with Felicity not to make this harder than it already is. “We’ve made it this far, and we have a little coin already. All we need is one decent job and the rest will fall into place.”

 

Not two seconds after he says that a squatter brushes past, yanking his purse from its place on his belt and making a break for it.    
  


“Hey!” Garrett calls out, as if that will be enough to make the thief stop and reevaluate his life choices. It’s just as well that the well-dressed dwarf with the strange crossbow steps out from the shadows and shoots the man in the shoulder, pinning him to a pale stone wall now smeared with red. Felicity would have done far worse. 

 

“I knew a guy once who could take every coin out of your pockets just by smiling at you,” the dwarf says, stepping towards the struggling thief to relieve him of Garrett’s hard-earned money. “But you? You don’t have the style to work Hightown, let alone the Merchant’s Guild. Might want to find yourself a new line of work.”  

 

He punches the man hard after taking the purse back and yanks the arrow from his shoulder with the same prejudice. Garrett rushes over, apologies and thanks already spilling from his lips before the dwarf holds up a hand to stop him.

 

“I’m happy to help, messere,” he says with an amused smile. “The name’s Varric Tethras, and I apologize for Bartrand. He wouldn’t know an opportunity if it hit him square in the jaw.”

 

“But you would, I take it?” Felicity asks, stepping forward with her arms crossed. 

 

“I would.” 

 

Garrett asks far too many questions after Varric announces he’d like to hire them on as partners, but the dwarf answers them patiently, an amused twinkle in his eyes. 

 

“Do you think--”

 

“Oh, come on, Garrett,” Felicity finally interrupts. “It’s an expedition to the fucking Deep Roads, not a blind date. You can ask invasive questions later, when we actually have the money. Now shake the nice man’s hand and let’s move on.”

 

Garrett blushes, Varric laughs, and they shake hands.

 

***

 

A few weeks and a few jobs later, they finally have enough information to track down the Deep Roads entrance they need. The Hawke siblings agreed to meet Varric at the Hanged Man around mid-afternoon, but Felicity arrives early. It’s not quite noon, but the bar is open and that’s really all she needs. She puts a few coins down on the counter and Corff wordlessly passes her the strongest alcohol he has for sale. It tastes like darkspawn piss, and might be at that, but she doesn’t care. Forgetting is worth the sovereigns. 

 

The rest of the bar is almost empty, save for Norah, who is content to chat idly with Corff over the bar and leave Felicity to her sulking in the far corner. Her only company is the fire in the fireplace, and even that is reduced to barely glowing embers at this time of day.

 

“I thought I recognized you,” a voice says suddenly, breaking her from her solitude. She looks up to see Varric coming down the creaky, crooked steps with his trademark grin and she can’t help but smile in return. “You know, they say you should never drink alone. There aren’t even other patrons for you to threaten at this time of day. I’m sure Marcus is disappointed you’re not channelling your wrath elsewhere - I think he’s still recovering from last week’s brawl.”

 

Felicity snorts into her drink and gestures for Varric to sit with her. The chairs are old and a little bit uncomfortable, but they both pretend not to notice. “That prick deserved every bit of what he got. Copping a feel I might be able to forgive eventually, but spilling my drink?”

 

Varric throws his head back, barking a laugh. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

 

“I thought it was obvious?”

 

“Fair enough,” he concedes, still smiling. “So, what brings you to my humble abode so early in the day?”

 

Felicity quirks a brow and throws back another swig of the foul drink in front of her. “Take a wild guess.” 

 

His smile fades. “Isn’t it a little early for that?” 

 

“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” she shrugs, deflecting the friendly concern in his voice. “I’m all for finding a safe entrance - as safe as the Deep Roads get, anyways - but I’m not about to face a pack of starving refugees sober. Gamlen’s stash ran dry, so I came here.”

 

“You drank Gamlen out of his own house?”   
  


The satisfied smirk she flashes him is all the confirmation he needs.

 

“Does he know?” Varric asks. He can’t imagine Gamlen being particularly pleased about someone else drinking his alcohol, especially the snarky niece he never wanted. 

 

“It’s hard to bitch about your secret stash of alcohol being gone if you don’t want anyone to know it was there in the first place,” she says with a slow, wicked grin. “And even if he decides to take that fall, I’ve got enough blackmail to hold over him that it won’t be a problem.” 

 

“Damn. I should be bringing you to my meetings with the Coterie. I think you’d have them beat at their own game.”

 

Felicity lets out a humorless laugh, suddenly back in Ferelden and forced to take her father’s place at the head of the illegal lyrium trade or risk her entire family’s exposure. “I’ve had plenty of experience with smuggler types. Not really eager to get back in that game.”

 

It’s a statement that leaves Varric with more questions than answers, but the conversation ends there. The two of them sit in an almost companionable silence. Eventually Varric moves some of his paperwork to the table they’re situated at to work quietly while Felicity finishes her drink, and the one after that, and the one after that. They’re still sitting together when Garrett and Carver walk in two hours later. 

 

Carver starts to ask what’s going on, but the question dies in his throat when Garrett fixes him with a stern look. It visibly galls him to have to follow Garrett’s ruling yet again, but as soon as he notices Felicity’s glassy, bloodshot eyes he accepts it.

 

She squeezes both their shoulders in silent gratitude on the way out the door and tries not to think about growing divides. 

 

***

 

‘Lirene’s Ferelden Imports’ is the least subtle name she can think of, but that’s where their small group heads for answers about the mysterious ex-Warden they seek. She’s sure that there’s a man in Kirkwall in possession of the maps they need who matches some of the rumors, but she doubts the Warden part. Victory in war, vigilance in peace, and death in sacrifice d oesn’t leave room for much of a retirement plan. 

 

Felicity grimaces the moment Garrett opens the door. The inside of the building is cramped and noisy and full of desperate refugees.

 

“I need work yesterday!” a man cries to the woman behind the counter. “My family hasn’t had food in days!”

 

“We just need a place to stay!” another begs, clutching at the brood of children around her skirts. “Just for a night or two!”

 

The aging floorboards creak beneath the trio of beefy Fereldens and their dwarven friend as they squeeze through the crowd of frantic parents, gaunt orphans, and broken families to the woman Felicity can only assume is Lirene. 

 

She gives them a wary look as they approach. “If you’ve found work already I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she says, taking in their mercenary armor and weapons too good to be scavenged. 

 

“We have work,” Garrett assures her warmly. “We’re just here for some information.”

 

“Oh? Like what?”

 

“Is there anything we can do to help here?” he asks, and Felicity groans aloud. Trust Garrett to forget why they actually came. If Lirene wasn’t careful he’d be offering her the shirt off his back in no time. 

 

Lirene just beams at him and gestures towards the crates at the door. “We take all manner of clothes and blankets in those baskets there, provided they’re reasonably clean and free of holes. Monetary donations are just as appreciated, and taken up here.”

 

Garrett returns her smile and starts counting out fifty silver to donate. Fifty more silver that won’t be going towards food for Leandra, or for them, but it’s hard to resent charity. 

 

“We’re also looking for someone,” Felicity butts in, eager to get what they came for and leave. The refugees are too many and too close and they all remind her of Bethany. “A Warden. Ferelden. Heard you might know where to find him.”

 

Lirene’s good humor disappears in an instant. “Only Ferelden Grey Wardens I’ve heard of are back home, one sitting on the throne, the other standing beside it. But we’re out of the Blight’s path now. Why would you need a Warden?”   
  


“The healer was one of them once, wasn’t he, though? A Warden, I mean,” a young woman pipes up to Lirene’s obvious displeasure. 

 

“Well he’s not now, and busy enough without answering fool questions about it.” Her tone brooks no argument. 

 

“Will it help if I promise only to ask clever ones?” Felicity’s voice teases, but her eyes, watery and bloodshot and a little bit dangerous, do not. Garrett almost steps in, but Varric stops him.  

 

Lirene sighs. “You know how hard it is for our people here, just trying to make ends meet. Most can barely buy bread. But this healer, he sees them without thought for coin, closing their wounds, delivering their children. He’s a good man. I won’t lose him to the templars.”

 

“We’re not templars,” Felicity says simply, holding out her hand and letting her mana flow. Lightning crackles between her fingertips. 

 

Lirene’s eyes widen a little, and Carver grips the pommel of his sword, daring anyone who sees his sister to say something. But Lirene just nods in understanding. “You’ll find him in Darktown,” she says, “by the lit lantern. Every refugee knows that if you have need enough, Anders will be within.”

 

Felicity gives a simple nod, one that Lirene returns. She turns on her heel and walks out before anything more can be said, the sound of Garrett’s profuse thanks behind her. If she sways a little as she goes, no one is brave enough to mention it.

 

“You’re pretty good at getting things out of people, you know? Especially for a woman who’s had three rounds of Corff’s special brew,” Varric tells her while they wait outside. “I’m impressed.” 

 

“I’m impressive.” 

 

He rolls his eyes but can’t stifle a smile. “I’ll give you that one, Tempest.”   
  


“Tempest?” she says indignantly. “Felicity is just fine, thanks.”

 

He chuckles at her distress. “Come on, you knew I’d come up with a nickname for you eventually.”

 

“Why that one?” she asks, partly to be stubborn and partly because she’s actually curious. 

 

“A good nicknamer never tells his secrets,” he says mischievously, “but I’ll make an exception for you. It’s pretty simple, really. You use lightning, lightning happens during a storm, storms are also called tempests. It’s an added bonus that your personality can be so...tempestuous.”   
  


Felicity quirks a brow at the suggestion she’s anything less than delightful, and Varric holds up his hands claiming innocence. His shit-eating grin does little to reinforce it. 

 

“I guess it’s better than Carver’s,” she allows, and his smile only grows wider.

 

“You know you love it.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

When Carver and Garrett finally join them they’re still squabbling like an old married couple. The walk to Darktown is a long one.

 

***

 

Anders is...not what she expected. He’s handsome, for one. Not the haggard old man she was picturing, though the weight that rests on the feathery pauldrons of his shoulders makes him appear older than he actually is, she suspects.

 

Naturally he threatened them at first, but it was easy for Garrett to talk him down. In the end Anders agreed to a deal - a favor for a favor. But of course, at the first mention of oppressed mages Garrett practically begged to help break his friend out of the circle, maps or no maps. Carver protested loudly at that, but a good zap from Felicity shut him up quick enough. 

 

“Where do we meet you and when?” Felicity had asked, causing the ex-Warden to pause and really look at her for the first time. Almost as tall as her brothers and just as strong, Felicity knew the impression she made, but he just sized her up like she was a piece to a particularly challenging puzzle he was trying to put together. 

 

“Just outside the Chantry, at midnight,” he said, apparently making his mind up about something. “Please don’t be late.”

 

So there they were, Felicity, Garrett, and Varric, now inside the Chantry in the middle of the night following closely behind Anders as he led them to the rendezvous point.

 

“When we find Karl, let me do the talking,” he whispers as they stalk through the otherwise silent building. “Your job is to be on the lookout for templars.” His voice echoes up through the vaulted ceilings, and Felicity tries not to shrink under Andraste’s knowing marble gaze. 

 

They arrive at the alcove where Karl is standing just a few minutes later, his distinctive circle robes easy to pick out even in the dim candlelight. He faces away from the group, and all she can see about the man himself is the neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair at his nape. 

 

“Anders,” he says in a too-hollow voice, “I know you too well. I told them you would never give up.”

 

Anders’ brow furrows. “What’s wrong? Why are you talking like--”

 

Karl turns around, and the sunburst brand on his forehead cuts his words off like a knife. “I was too rebellious, like you,” he says, and Felicity can see the anguish and heartbreak in Anders’ eyes as he shakes his head in horror. “The templars knew I had to be… made an example of. How else will mages ever master themselves? You’ll understand, as soon as the templars teach you to control yourself.”

 

As he says this, a group of templars appear behind them. They’re all outfitted in their battle armor, clearly not here for a friendly chat. “No!” Anders cries, and suddenly his eyes aren’t just filled with grief. They’re  _ glowing _ .

 

Felicity’s can feel her own eyes widen as Anders fights the templars like a host unto himself, blazing with a righteous sort of fury and humming like the Fade itself. She only remembers to stop staring and join the fight when a templar’s blade narrowly misses her arm. She stumbles back and blasts a bolt of lightning in the direction of the swing, electrocuting him in his own armor.

 

The rest are quick to fall, leaving them panting and wide-eyed, standing in the blood of a dozen templars. A voice from behind shakes them from their stupor.

 

“I-- Anders what did you do?” Karl asks, suddenly sounding human and not the husk he’s been made into. “It’s like you… brought a piece of the Fade into this world. I had already forgotten what that feels like.”

 

“I thought Tranquil were cut off from the Fade forever?” Garrett asks him, shooting Felicity a curious look. She shrugs. That was the prevailing theory, but whatever Anders just did clearly proves it wrong. 

 

Karl’s brow furrows, probably with that same thought. “When you’re Tranquil, you never think on your life before. But it’s like the Fade is  _ inside  _ Anders, burning like a sun. Some of it must have bled through.”

 

Anders looks guiltily to the side, afraid to meet Karl’s searching gaze. He snaps to attention the moment Karl takes his hands, however, like he can’t help but be drawn in by the force pulling them together. 

 

“Please,” Karl says, suddenly pleading, “kill me before I forget again. I don’t know how you brought it back, but it’s fading.”

 

Anders looks like he’s been slapped, eyes wide and panicked and full of equal parts confusion, grief, and anger.

 

Varric turns away, shaking his head sadly.

 

“Is there no cure?” Garrett asks, turning to look at everyone in turn, trying to find the hope that has left all of them. The Chantry is eerily silent and still. 

 

“Can you cure a beheading?” Anders says, voice filled with a bitterness all his life in the making. “Tranquility severs a mage’s connection to the Fade. There is nothing left of them to cure.” 

 

Karl’s voice is soft when he speaks up again, eyes gazing at Anders with something tender and heartbreaking in them. “I would rather die a mage than live as a templar puppet. You know that.”

 

Anders squeezes his eyes shut, forcing back the tears. “I do,” he says, and there is a tragic finality to his words. “Karl, I’m so sorry.” He closes the distance between them and hugs the older man desperately, like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. The knife slips between Karl’s ribs a moment later, and he gasps his last breaths onto Ander’s shoulder. 

 

“ _ Th-thank you. _ ”

 

Anders sets him carefully on the ground, apart from the bodies of the templars, and closes his eyes gently. They all turn away as he chokes out a prayer, clumsily pressing a kiss to the sunburst mark on Karl’s forehead. 

 

When he stands again to join them there is a hardness to his face and in the lines of his shoulders that Felicity should find surprising. Instead it feels almost natural, a thought that chills her even more. 

 

“We should go now, before more templars come,” is all he says before brushing past them and out into the crisp night air. Felicity swears that the statue’s eyes watch them as they leave.

 

***

 

She visits his clinic a few days later under the pretense of a black eye. Garrett could salve and bandage it for her, but he always looks like a kicked puppy the whole time he does it. Besides being a proper healer, she hopes Anders might be a little more of a neutral party. 

 

There is also, of course, the fact that he had started glowing in the middle of a battle after which he had been forced to mercy-kill a man who was obviously very important to him at their last meeting. Nothing about the situation is reassuring, especially since all signs point to him being an abomination of some kind. 

 

She mulls over exactly what to say on the way to the clinic, but it’s hard when most of her energy is focused on remaining upright.

 

Darktown is as uninviting as ever. It’s late, so the usual crowd is either caught up in something illegal in the hidden passageways, sharing hushed conversation over a fire and glaring suspiciously as she passes, or sleeping tucked away in a corner with their hand curled around a knife. The grin Felicity flashes in passing is crooked and sharp. She sways a little as she walks and there’s enough blood on her face and knuckles that it’s clear she’s the one who walked away victorious from the fight. 

 

As soon as she enters the clinic Anders ushers her to one of the few unused rickety cots, shifting some of the rags off to the side to allow her to sit. The inpatients all give her strange looks, but whether it’s because of the blood or the fact that she’s a virtual stranger is unclear. 

“What happened?” Anders asks. His care-worn brow is furrowed in concentration as he repairs the broken blood vessels beneath her skin.

 

“Bar fight,” she says with a humorless laugh. “What else?”

 

Anders eyes her busted nose, the result of years of fighting and Garrett’s rudimentary grasp of first-aid, and the dangerous shine in her eyes only accentuated by the now half-healed bruises surrounding them. “I take it this is a regular occurrence?”

 

She shrugs, and he lets out a soft laugh. “I’m surprised whoever it was managed to land a hit on you at all.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m drunk, if you hadn’t noticed. And I have off days. Not all of us can glow,” Felicity says dryly before realizing what a mistake it might be. She hopes her wince isn’t noticeable, but judging by the look on his Anders’ face it is.

 

To his credit, he waits to finish healing her face and hands before stepping back and letting out a pained sigh. “I was wondering when that would come up.” There’s a lifetime of regret packed into those eight words. “It’s...complicated.” When she doesn’t make any snide comments, he continues, “During my time in Amaranthine I met a spirit of justice. It was trapped outside of the Fade and actually joined the Wardens for a period of time.”

 

“It took up with the Wardens? Why?” Felicity can’t help but interrupt this time. Most of the spirits she’s met have been bored with the mundane and the human, disillusioned entirely with the world outside the Fade.

 

There’s a fond, almost wistful look in Anders’ eyes as he answers. “Justice always said it was because our cause was righteous, but really it was the Warden-Commander - I swear she could convince anyone to do almost anything.” He pauses. “It also helped that he was inhabiting the body of a dead Warden. Said he felt obligated to honor his sacrifices.”

 

“Oh, is that all?”

 

“Yes,” Anders says, eyes sparkling briefly with humor before becoming serious once more. “He was a dear friend, and far better to me than I to him. When the body he was inhabiting grew unfit, I offered myself as a living host. We were going to work together, bring justice to every child ever ripped away from their parents to be put in a Circle.” He pauses, running a hand through his lanky, dirty-blond hair already greying prematurely at the temples. “But I guess I had too much anger. Once he was inside me he was no longer the Justice I once knew. Now we’re inseparable, a tangled mess of consciousness in one body. Not even the greatest scholar could tell you where I end and he begins.”

 

Felicity watches his face as he speaks, but he keeps his expression carefully neutral in the aftermath of such a painful confession. Not minding the soreness of her arms, she claps a hand to his shoulder and offers what is supposed to be a comforting smile. “Shit’s fucked,” she says before turning to clean up the cot she’s been sitting on. 

 

“I-- That’s it?” 

 

“Look,” Felicity begins with a glare that falls on the more serious side of playful, “if you want a mushy speech I can send Garrett over.” 

 

“No, it’s fine, I just--” he pauses and gives her the strangest look, like he’s seeing her for the first time all over again. “It really doesn’t bother you, does it?”

 

Felicity just laughs as she walks out of the clinic, waving a hand over her shoulder and shouting a brief ‘thanks’ for the healing. Anders stands there shaking his head long after she’s gone.

 

***

She doesn’t make a habit of visiting the clinic, precisely, but Garrett notices that she comes to him for patching up less and less. He knows it’s not because she’s getting into fewer fights. And if he notices her taking armfuls of old linens and blankets that Anders shows him later from some ‘anonymous donor’, he just smiles to himself and says nothing. 

 

***

 

Their ragtag group grows in the following months. They are joined first by a pirate looking for a mysterious and unspecified relic, then an ex-Dalish First who dabbles in blood magic, and finally a fugitive slave from Tevinter whose glowing tattoos allow him to reach through a man’s chest and crush his heart.

 

Just your average, friendly neighborhood Kirkwallers. 

 

With the added help, and with Garrett’s insistence on helping every person with sad eyes and a sob story - not to mention Felicity’s dubiously legal contracts taken behind her brother’s back - they manage to acquire the coin necessary for their Deep Roads venture. Weeks are spent sitting crowded together at the Hanged Man and poring over the maps Anders gave them. Supplies are gathered, horses and wagons readied, workers hired, fees paid. The look on Bartrand’s face when Felicity not only announces that the Hawke’s will be his partners in this venture, but hands him the full fifty sovereigns required is one that has her smiling to herself long afterwards. 

 

In the end it’s decided that Garrett (mindful of everyone’s safety), Felicity (definitely not sober), Carver (under threat of never speaking to Garrett again if he’s left behind), Varric (complaining loudly about going anywhere that isn’t the Hanged Man despite the fact that it’s his own brother’s expedition), and Anders (under heavy protest) will go with for the expedition. The others wish them luck, but none look particularly bummed about missing out on weeks in the heart of the Deep Roads.

 

Just when everything is settled for their departure, as much peace made with their circumstances as possible, Leandra rushes in frantic and gasping. They’d already said their goodbyes in the morning, but trust their mother to overreact anyway.

 

“Who invited the old lady?” Bartrand sneers when he spots her on the fringes of the group, and Felicity can feel Garrett bristle beside her while she just rolls her eyes. 

 

“Not me,” she grumbles, but turns to face her mother anyway.

 

Leandra at least has the good sense to wait for her children to approach her and not wade through the throng of cranky dwarves and hirelings, but it’s clear she has to keep reminding herself not to rush over and smother them.

 

Garrett hugs her as soon as they’re close enough. Carver and Felicity follow suit, but both are a little stiff and forced. 

“Oh, my babies,” Leandra weeps, “you’re sure you all must go? Felicity leaving I can understand, but surely at least one of my boys can stay behind? I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens!”

 

Felicity turns away and grits her teeth before says something to her mother she might regret, but it’s a near thing. Of course it makes sense for Felicity to go, just like it made sense for her to keep hidden and then take over her father’s smuggling operation and then stay behind while the boys went off to war; she is the problem child. The loose cannon. The  _ mage _ .

 

She counts the pale cobblestones of Hightown’s square and takes deep, calming breaths while Garrett obliviously and gently explains why all of them have agreed to go. Carver, however, scoots a little closer to his sister, his large frame ever so slightly shielding her from their mother. It’s a small gesture, but it says more than the two most emotionally constipated members of the Hawke family ever will aloud. 

 

Fifteen minutes, five hugs, and several teary-eyed goodbyes later, they depart for the Deep Roads. Felicity has a sinking feeling about it all that she doesn’t share with anyone else, instead reaching for the bottle of alcohol in her pack and starting to drink. 

 

***

 

The Hawke’s have all killed darkspawn before, but almost no one on the expedition except Anders has physically been in the Deep Roads. He describes the experience to Felicity in as great detail she can get out of an unwilling victim. The stench, the oppressive crush of the earth over and around you, the darkspawn’s taint so real and present you can taste it, Warden or no. Felicity’s imagination runs wild, conjuring up a fitting home for the nightmarish creatures that killed her baby sister close to two years ago now. 

 

When they finally arrive, she is not disappointed.

 

The Deep Roads are every inch as dank and horrifying as Anders had said and more. But there’s something that leaves Felicity breathless about it all, too. As ruined and overrun with darkspawn as they are now, the Deep Roads were first and foremost a complex highway system connecting an underground nation across continents. To walk upon them is to tread the path of a history too proud to fall completely, too grand and well-constructed to let themselves be forgotten even years after the dwarves have abandoned them.

 

Felicity can feel the weight not just of the earth above them, but the history that came before them. She’s certain Varric can, too, but he looks more and more miserable the deeper underground they go. 

 

“Having fun yet?” she asks him, shitty grin fixed on her face. 

 

“Very funny, Tempest,” Varric says. “You could at least have the decency to share your drink. It’s not fair to have to face this sober.”

 

She lifts an already half-empty bottle above her head, just out of his reach. “You mean this drink?”

 

He huffs and grumbles something uncomplimentary about humans before falling back to talk to his brother some more about their plans. Felicity laughs and takes another swig.

 

***

 

She runs out of alcohol the day they arrive at the unknown thaig. There’s a killer headache forming behind her eyes, and Garrett keeps giving her worried looks, but the others at least have the decency to pretend nothing has changed. That, or they’re more interested in the mysterious red lyrium that grows on everything in sight, all of it ancient and none of it anything they had expected. 

 

“Nothing here makes sense,” Bartrand mutters as he examines one of the carvings close to camp. 

 

“Care to elaborate?” Felicity is genuinely interested, if only to try and get a reading on the thaig’s value, so she tries to keep the irritation out of her voice.

 

“We’re well below the actual Deep Roads, now,” he explains, tugging thoughtfully at his braided beard, “so whatever dwarves lived here came before the first Blight. But where are the Paragons, the carvings? I don’t recognize these markings on the wall or anything in the rubble.”

 

“Well, at least we’ll be justified in jacking our prices,” she shrugs. 

 

“Oh, definitely,” Bartrand agrees, and the greedy glimmer in his eyes when he says it is almost comical. She leaves him behind, still muttering under his breath about their find. 

 

The camp is bathed in a pulsing red light as she walks through. The strange lyrium that grows here looks almost alive all around them, formed as it has in huge veins that branch out like ivy. Regular lyrium hums with energy, discernable to dwarves and mages alike, but when she listens closely this red stuff  _ sings _ . Or at least she thinks it does. No one else seems to hear it, and jittery and sweating from withdrawal as she is, she’s afraid to ask. 

 

Curious despite herself, she reaches a palm out to touch a vein that spiderwebs on the wall closest to where her tent is pitched. Anders’ hand pulls her away before she can. She hadn’t even heard him sneak up behind her. 

 

“Best not to touch,” he warns in a low voice so as not to frighten any of the others. “Can you hear it too?” 

 

She lets out a nervous laugh. She liked it better when she was pretty sure it was just her imagination. “Yeah, I hear it. What do you think it is?” 

 

“Dangerous.” His eyes scan the lyrium carefully, and she can’t help but think that up this close they’re the color of whiskey. Dangerous, indeed. 

 

“I’ll be sure to keep my hands to myself,” she jokes, then flushes when she realizes Anders still hasn’t let go of her hand from before. He releases it quickly with a blush of his own. They both hide in their tents until Garrett and Varric call everyone together later. 

 

***

 

It’s hard to say whether it’s night or morning after the weeks they’ve spent underground, but no one can sleep so close to what they know is a major discovery. Felicity, Garrett, Carver, Anders, and Varric all set out to scout ahead, instead, while the rest of the camp stays behind to gather what valuables they can carry. 

 

Varric stops when they reach the edge of scouted territory. “Think we’ll find anything?”

 

“More stuff that wants to kill us, probably,” Felicity snickers before Garrett can say something mushy and uplifting. 

 

The dwarf just sighs. “This entire place gives me the creeps. Let’s hope it’s worth it.”

 

***

 

It ends up that they’re both right. Felicity likes to think she’s more right, though, because the number of ridiculous things they have to kill to get to the treasure that makes the journey worth such trouble only increases. Every kind of wraith, tormented spirit, or darkspawn there is comes crawling from its stinking hole to waylay them as if magically alerted to their presence. They probably are, at that. By the time the merry band of adventurers reach the innermost chamber of the thaig everyone is covered in oozing black blood. 

 

Felicity immediately notices the glowing  _ something  _ that sits atop a stone dias upon entering the room otherwise untouched for millennia. It looks rare. Expensive, even in the dimness. The only light comes from their torches and the unnatural red glow of the lyrium that only seems to grow wilder the further in they get. She approaches it first, holding an arm up to her brothers. Whatever it is, something so well-protected and well-hidden is probably magical. Her brothers are many things, but mages they are not. 

 

She and Anders approach, staffs at the ready. The others follow cautiously behind. Carver keeps trying to peek over his sister’s shoulder, earning him a swat from Garrett. 

 

The glowing item in question appears to be some kind of dwarven idol, sitting there red and pulsing like it’s carved from--

 

“Is that...lyrium?” Felicity gasps. Probing it with her staff only confirms the guess. 

 

“It’s definitely magic,” Anders agrees, “and not the good kind.” 

 

“Doesn’t look like any kind of lyrium I’ve ever seen,” Varric muses. Anders gives him an exasperated look that the dwarf decides to ignore, instead calling out to his brother, who had apparently decided to follow them at a distance, conveniently far enough away to not have to lift a finger against the dangers they faced.

 

Fat lot of help he was. 

 

“Look, Bartrand,” Varric calls down the stairs, “an idol made of pure lyrium, I think. Could be worth a fortune!” 

 

Bartrand whistles appreciatively. “Good find, little brother.”

 

“What are we, chopped nug?” Felicity grumbles, but hands the idol to Varric, who in turn tosses it down to his brother. There’s a charge of strange energy that pulses up her arm when she touches it, the feeling washing over her like oil before she passes it on. It goes as quickly as it came and she wonders briefly if she is hallucinating. 

 

Then the door slams shut.

 

“Bartrand! Bartrand, the door shut behind you!” Varric calls. 

 

They rush down the stairs in time to hear muffled laughter from behind the door. There’s a manic edge to it that sets Felicity’s hairs on end. “You always did notice everything, Varric.” 

 

Varric shares a horrified look with Garrett, betrayal written all over his face. “ _ What?! _ You’re really gonna screw over your own  _ brother  _ for some lousy idol?”

 

“The location of this thaig alone is worth a fortune, one that I’m not splitting three ways. Sorry, kiddo.” 

 

Varric shouts angrily, desperately, after the sound of his brother’s retreating footsteps to no avail. Bartrand does not turn around, and the situation they are now stuck in is not the sick joke it feels like. Garrett lays a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder, and after a few more minutes of heavy breathing reality finally settles onto Varric’s shoulders as well. He allows himself a moment to droop under the weight of it all before looking up to face his friends. “Well...shit. Let’s hope there’s another way out of here.”

 

Felicity squares her shoulders, cracks her neck and her knuckles. She says nothing as she steps forward, silent anger simmering dangerously beneath the surface of every move. 

 

Everyone follows her through the doorway at the back of the room, almost hidden behind the dias, and they wonder for the first time if they will all make it home alive. 

 

***

 

Anders had warned Felicity when she first ran out of alcohol that she might experience withdrawal symptoms. Anything from headaches to excessive sweating to shaking hands to hallucinations. 

 

Caught up in the rush of killing things and then getting betrayed and then having to kill even more things, she had been able to ignore most of it. It’s the moments in between, like when she sits propped up between her brothers, that they hit her hardest. 

 

Her hands tremble in her lap, just as clammy as the damp skin on her face. Her eyes are pressed firmly shut against the pressure, but it does little to stop the horde of enemies behind them.

 

Darkspawn and spirits and rock wraiths swarm beneath her eyelids, their own eyes glowing with menace, or possibly lyrium. It’s hard to tell at this point. Regardless, they fight as one, each separate creature coming together to form one great beast, a huge and hulking threat that pulses red and moves forward, never stopping, consuming everything in its path, and she’s running and running and running but it keeps coming, getting closer, swallowing her family and her friends and herself the world and--

 

Carver shakes her shoulder. “Lissy, wake up! Are you alright? We’ve got to move now,” he says. His already concerned eyes widen as soon as she opens hers to reveal the feverish look they’ve taken on. “You look like shit, are you sure you can go on? I can--”

 

She holds a finger to his mouth and glares. “If you say ‘I can carry you’ out loud, I will electrocute you and make it look like a rock wraith did it.”

 

The smile he makes at her joke doesn’t quite erase the concern on his forehead and at the creases of his eyes, but she manages not to sway too badly when she stands so he leaves her be. She counts it as a win. 

 

They are on their fourth day of marching through unmapped territory, all of it part of the primeval thaig they’d discovered but still wildly unfamiliar. The further in they get, the weirder everything is.

 

First it was the rock wraiths, which Varric had said were part of dwarven legend after their initial encounter with them at the dead end of a particularly dank tunnel, his tan face pale with shock. 

 

“I’m sure if we just tell them they shouldn’t exist they’ll fuck right off and stop attacking us,” Felicity had snarked, leaning heavily on her staff after killing one with Garrett. Their agreement to go nowhere alone had become even stricter after that. It made bathroom breaks more awkward, but it was better than the alternative.

 

Then next came the demon. It looked just like the wraiths, only bigger. The feel of it was what gave it away; a demon of glutton, it wanted only to feast undisturbed in the depths, and that desire radiated off of it in waves. Felicity had met plenty like it in the Fade before, so it hardly got out the first sentence of its ‘Make a Deal with a Demon’ spiel before she’d begun electrocuting it. 

 

Now, in retrospect, she might have listened a little longer to what it had to say. If Varric’s knowledge of ancient thaigs could be trusted then they’re due to be approaching the vault any day now. Even if there are no residual traps left from the good old days of the dwarven kingdom - which Felicity highly doubts - there is no way something sinister hadn’t holed up there in the meantime. What that is, they have no way of knowing. 

 

***

 

The passage they have been following for hours opens up to a large, high-ceilinged chamber suddenly and without warning. The space is more open than anything they’ve found so far, and completely void of enemies for a change. Instead, all that lies on the ground is rubble left over from the crumbling stone structures around them.

 

“This is it,” Varric says, looking at the tall carved pillars with something close to appreciation. “The vault. The dwarves would’ve brought their--”

 

Behind them, something  _ stirs _ . 

 

Felicity turns around in time to see the large boulders she had initially catalogued as debris rearranging themselves into the largest rock wraith she’s seen in her life. Bigger even than the demon, it glows a menacing red in the places the rocks do not connect, brighter in the socket where a single giant eye forms.

 

It looks like a nightmare.  _ Her  _ nightmare. 

 

“Oh,” Varric whispers, horrified, “that can’t be good.”

 

He isn’t wrong. The ancient rock wraith is deadly and vast and absolutely livid it has been disturbed after however many thousands of years.

 

As if size alone isn’t enough to make it nearly impossible to kill, it lets off intermittent shockwaves of scorching energy, probably the result of habitating so long among the strange red lyrium that permeates these tunnels. Felicity drags Carver back behind a pillar by his collar to safety just in time, the hairs on his forearm singed and smoking where he didn’t snatch them back in time. 

 

“What the fuck?” he shouts over the roars, but Felicity just swats the back of his head and charges his greatsword again, sending him back into the fray.

 

After what feels like hours, Carver and Garrett are able to coordinate an attack powerful enough to finally bring the beast down. Each of their weapons charged with electricity, and Varric’s arrows tipped with ice, they strike all at once in the wraith’s weak points between joints. 

 

It falls to the ground in a flash of blinding red light. 

 

“Those things aren’t even supposed to be real!” Varric insists for what feels like the millionth time after the dust settles. 

 

“Looked pretty real to me,” is all Felicity says before shouldering her staff once more. 

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Carver butts in, “look what it was guarding!” He points to a pile of the most gold Felicity has seen in her life. 

 

“Holy shit,” she breathes. 

 

They all set out to stuff their packs and pockets with as much as they can carry. Garrett is the only one who remains sensible in the face of all the riches, searching also for a key to the massive locked door guarding the way out. 

 

His find is put to good use immediately; everyone is eager to take their treasure and get back home as soon as possible.

 

After traveling down the new path a little ways, Varric stops and stares appraisingly. “Hmm,” he muses under his breath. 

 

“What?” Garrett asks on all their behalf. 

 

“I’d say this is our way back. If we’re unlucky, it’s maybe a week to get back to the surface.”

 

“And if we’re lucky?” 

 

Varric’s normally cheerful face darkens in a way Felicity has never seen before. “We’ll stumble over Bartrand’s corpse on the way.”

 

***

 

To Varric’s great disappointment, they don’t find any bodies on the way, save for a few rotting darkspawn that they give a wide berth. They’re all tired and miserable, and rations are running low, but the surface is only a few days away now. 

 

“I think we’re back where we started,” Garrett remarks, looking at the carvings on the wall. 

 

“Not bad for a couple of Surfacers, eh?” Varric says, jostling shoulders with him. 

 

It’s been hard keeping things positive in such terrible conditions, but the hope that accompanies familiar territory puts everyone in the best mood they’ve been in since the start of the trip. Even Anders wears a small smile on his face, which has been sullen and serious from his first steps underground. 

 

“Do you think we could...take a break?” Carver asks faintly. He hasn’t spoken much on their return journey, but until now Felicity had assumed he was just commiserating silently like the rest of them. “I feel…wrong.”

 

“I bet it was those mushrooms we found,” Varric says, still smiling. 

 

“No, it’s--” Carver doesn’t finish his sentence, instead collapsing to the ground in a heap. Felicity rushes to catch him before his head hits. She’s not smiling anymore.

 

“Carver!” Garrett cries, running to join her at his side. 

 

Carver looks up pitifully from his sister’s arms, trying to put on a weak smile for his worried older siblings.

 

Anders looks grim once more as he joins them. “It’s the Blight,” he says softly. “I can sense it.”

 

The words knock the air out of Felicity’s lungs, and all of a sudden she feels like the world is falling beneath her. “No,” she breathes, even though she knows Anders would never lie about something so important. 

 

“Just like Aveline’s templar,” Carver says weakly. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

 

“Don’t say that,” Felicity snarls, arms tightening protectively around him. She looks up at Anders, a fire burning in her pale eyes. “Do something.”

 

“I--” Anders hesitates, clearly torn. “There is only one way I know to save your brother, and even then it’s no guarantee.”

 

“ _ Tell me. _ ”

 

“The maps I gave you I stole from a Warden that had come to Kirkwall. I wanted to know if he was looking for me. He wasn’t. The maps were for planning their own expedition into the Deep Roads.” 

 

“What are you saying?” she snaps.

 

“I’m saying that if the Wardens are here, I know where. We could take Carver to them.”

 

“Then let’s not waste any time,” she says before hoisting her baby brother onto her and Garrett’s shoulders. 

 

***

 

They find the Wardens in a nearby tunnel in the midst of a skirmish with a group of darkspawn. Felicity’s temper flares at the delay. Before anyone can do anything, she shifts Carver’s full weight over to Garrett and brings her staff to the ground with a resounding crack. Lightning strikes, and with a single gesture all of the darkspawn lay dead, smoking and singed. 

 

“What is the meaning of this? Who--?” a man with an impressively large moustache starts to demand before his eyes settle on the blond mage beside her. “Anders,” he says warily. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

 

“That’s the rumor,” Anders waves a hand airily, “but I didn’t come here to swap stories with you.”

 

Garrett steps forward, Carver almost limp in his grip and clearly hating every second of it. Ever since his collapse his condition has only worsened. Black corruption visibly creeps up the veins in his neck.

 

The moustached man looks from Carver to Anders with a look of incredulity. “You...mean the boy as a recruit? Of course you do.” He shakes his head, turning to face Garrett and Felicity. “I’m sorry. I know this comes as no comfort to you, but we do not recruit Grey Wardens out of pity. It is no kindness.”

 

Felicity glares at him, electricity still sparking in her gaze. “No pity required; Carver happens to be an excellent swordsman. The Grey Wardens would be lucky to have him.”

 

Stroud hesitates, and Felicity cuts him off before he can waste even more time telling her things she already knows. “Look, Carver might die either way, and you’ve got everything to lose if you don’t at least try.”

 

“Very well. But I must warn you that if the boy comes, he comes now, and you may not see him again. Being a Grey Warden is not a cure. It’s a calling.”

 

“Did you steal that line from Mahariel?” Anders asks, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. 

 

Stroud ignores him, instead focusing on the Hawke family standing before him. “Are you sure about this?”

 

Felicity squeezes her eyes shut, forcing back the tears that threaten to spill out. “No,” she says finally, looking at Carver with an almost pleading expression, “but I won’t loose anyone else if I can help it. I can’t.”

 

Carver nods, accepting this, and reaches out for his sister for what may be the last time. She steps close and touches her forehead to his before placing a gentle kiss there despite the sweat and grime and blood. She is not crying.

 

“Be well, little brother,” she whispers, “I love you.”

 

“I love you too. Both of you,” Carver says weakly, turning to include Garrett for the first time as well. His older brother’s face is pinched with anguish and all the things he never said, all the burnt bridges between them that might never be rebuilt now. “I...guess this is it. Take care of Mother.”

 

The Wardens step forward quickly, taking him from one embrace to another. Felicity leans her whole weight on her twin, face scrunched tight so the tears can’t escape until her baby brother has long disappeared into the tunnels of the Deep Roads. 

 

***

 

The rest of the return journey is silent as the grave. Every echoing step Felicity takes feels like the toll of a funeral bell.

 

***

 

Felicity can hear everyone talking quietly about Bartrand’s betrayal and splitting the money they have and Carver’s unknown fate when they finally stand within Kirkwall city limits again, gathered outside Gamlen’s Lowtown hovel. The sound sits just outside her consciousness like oil on water. 

 

“--sorry about your brother,” Varric says, the end of his last sentence direct enough to finally break through to her. 

 

She clenches her fists, knuckles white and fingernails digging into her palms hard enough to draw blood, and looks anywhere but his face. “Me too,” she manages to choke out before turning away.

 

Anders reaches out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she moves towards the door before it lands, stooped with grief and the weight of what she is about to do. Garrett murmurs hasty farewells before following his sister into the house where their mother waits, unknowing.

 

Anders’ fingers linger in the air, hesitant, stretched towards intangible hurts as if to try and heal them. He knows he can’t. 

 

***

Varric and Anders don’t linger on the doorstep, but even down in the streets the piercing, heartbreaking cry of a mother’s anguish is impossible to miss.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos/comments greatly appreciated :)


End file.
